


Who You're Looking For

by swamplamp



Category: Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Anal Sex, Hotel Sex, M/M, daddy issues tbh, they both have issues and they cope with them poorly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:29:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4702709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swamplamp/pseuds/swamplamp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edward Dillinger Jr. didn't know that his father was dead. He's fine with it. Mostly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who You're Looking For

His mother didn't tell him not to go to Los Angeles. He figured she wouldn't have. He could hear the disapproval in her voice, but she wished him luck and hung up the phone. She was never one to outwardly object to any of his choices. That wasn't how things worked around the house and he was glad that he was leaving it.

His mother had worked for ENCOM too, way back when. Her relationship with the company mirrored her relationship with her ex-husband: it was a thing of the past, more or less destroyed by one mishap or another.

It wouldn't have made a difference what his mother's reaction was. Edward was already in California. The day after moving into his new apartment, he secured himself a job with ENCOM.

Maybe it was self-destructive, maybe it was ridiculous. He wasn't entirely sure what his reasoning was, but he told himself that he applied for the job out of curiosity. It would have been a decent resume assessment. A trial run.

But, really, the reason was that it would be a way to find his father. It didn't matter whether he got the job or not. (He suspected that he would get it.)

When he was five years old, his mother took him away, as if moving to Portland would keep him from growing up to be his father. Edward strove to be exactly what his father wasn't and this made his mother very happy. But today and the next, he decided, he would not hide his name or lineage while in Los Angeles. He wore it shamelessly, not giving half a damn what people thought.

"I'm sorry about your father," the woman at the front desk mumbled impassively, sliding his ID back to him over the marble counter while avoiding eye contact.

"It was twenty years ago. There's no need for that." His father's fraudulence was still an issue on ENCOM grounds, apparently. But it was unnecessary to get into it anymore than--

She looked up, flashing him a wide-eyed look, "You mean four days ago?"

His father was dead.

After he had heard it once, he never stopped hearing about it. He bore the same name as the man and knew all the stories so well but, staring into the picture of a sunken, grey face and starched, stiff suit, Edward did not know him. Realizing this, he did not bother to venture beyond his examination of the cover photo. Edward Dillinger, Sr. was dead and there was nothing more to it.

And yet, a date and a location listed in the article caught his eye. It didn't hurt to go to his viewing.

To describe the attendance number as sparse would've been an overstatement. It told him enough about his father's popularity. The few people present did not speak to Edward as he mingled with the emptiness of the room. He may have been the youngest one there.

This was where he met Alan Bradley. On the surface, he seemed to be no different from the rest of the bored suits who were only looking for free alcohol but Edward felt as though he knew him. In a way, Edward did know him; Mr. Bradley was more like the man he envisioned his father to be.

Mr. Bradley stood alone by the entrance of the chapel. The suppressed contempt that rolled off him like smoke seemed strangely misplaced, coming from this man in particular. He carried short conversations with one person or the other. It drew Edward closer.

As he approached, the look on Mr. Bradley's face suggested a sort of stunned confusion. "Have we met?" he asked.

"I think we have," Edward answered lightly. "Alan Bradley, is it?"

He held the appearance of someone who hadn't slept in days, but concealed his manic fatigue with casual professionalism. He looked into Edward's eyes and shook his hand amiably. "Yes. Yes, it is."

"My name is Edward Dillinger."

He had gotten so used to everyone here treating his name like an unsheathed weapon, it caught him off guard when Mr. Bradley said, "I owe you a drink."

"I'll be sure to take you up on that offer soon."

Work came more easily to him than he had expected, as did adjusting to life in Los Angeles. The weather was unpredictable but never extreme and the work he did was just as mildly temperamental. He made very few friends around the office. His name was whispered like a scandal, but no rumor was ever confirmed or denied. Edward let them think. He walked down the hall and could hear the chorus of papers being rustled and rushed to a safe place.

He was seen as a walking security risk down below, but the news obviously hadn't spread up high. He began to see Alan around more and more--or rather, Alan came to see him. Edward was paid visits by Executive Consultant Alan Bradley and, on those days, his little corner of the office went quiet.

The day that they got around to sharing drinks, Edward bumped into Alan as they were both heading out. Edward was caught up with a frustrating debugging. What would have been a day's work for a team had turned into a week's work for Edward on his own. So much for teamwork.

He trudged down the stairs, feeling particularly destructive. Upon spotting Alan in the lobby, his initial plan was to leave in a rush and go unnoticed, but from the way that Alan sighed and twitched, he could tell that Alan was having one of those nights too. They both seemed to have the same plan to get incredibly smashed that night.

Alan, he realized, was more set on driving himself into the floor than him. Downing round after round, Alan grew talkative as the night went on. He talked about the declining state of the company, but Edward wasn't convinced.

"I just get like this sometimes," Alan sighed in finality. "When you get as old as me, people you care about start to disappear."

"Don't treat me like some kid, Alan," he said roughly. But at the same time, he liked it. Alan was the only one who didn't treat him like a monster.

"I'm sorry. You're not, you know. You're really not."

Alan was drunk and Edward was... something else. The night ended after a sloppy blowjob in the back of Edward's car. He found that the feel of Alan's cock pumping cum down his throat and Alan's hand wound tight in his hair was exactly what he needed.

And apparently Alan wanted it too. The next time, they were both aware of what they were doing and were discrete about it. Alan wasn't drunk and Edward sent him a card key. They fucked in hotel rooms lit only by the dim glow of the city. Alan must have been about twice Edward's age. Of course, it didn't matter. Edward knew what he wanted. He wanted Alan ramming into him from behind, letting out unrestrained moans. (Or was it Edward making those sounds?)

Alan had so much bottled up. Edward could take it. Around the office, Alan seemed so uptight and halfway down the road to celibacy, but here, all that slipped away with every tug of Edward's hair or bite mark against his neck.

Alan had stamina. He would snap his hips against Edward's ass and hear the sound of skin slapping against skin, over and over again. Edward would bury his face in the mattress and feel the unforgiving burn turning into a blunt euphoria.

One night, Alan groaned someone's name as he orgasmed. It wasn't Edward's and Alan hadn't noticed. Kevin. Right, Kevin Flynn. It made sense in a strange way. This didn't bother Edward. Why would it?

As Edward's skills gained proper recognition throughout the company, his coworkers' old suspicions were forgotten. It made work much easier. The higher-ups eventually acknowledged his importance to the company in the form of dinner party invitations and pats on the back.

They would say "I remember your father. I was there when he released his first security program" or "Your work here has surpassed what your father had ever done. You should be proud." By no means did Edward enjoy this, but it worked to his advantage. His (and occasionally his father's) work was applauded and up he would climb.

"Your success with the company," Alan said one night, possibly his way of congratulating Edward. "I had nothing to do with it, you know."

Tonight, the hotel lamp's dull light flooded the room with a dark yellow. Alan sat in the chair by the window, while Edward sat at the edge of the bed. "I wouldn't have thought that you did."

"Then what was it that you've wanted from me?" Alan asked tentatively, almost curiously.

Edward wasn't entirely sure what Alan was asking him. What he wanted? He searched for an answer, but he felt increasingly betrayed by the question. Instead, he said, "You miss him, don't you? Kevin Flynn."

From this, he received a startled look. Alan's reply sounded broken: "I-- How did you...?"

What Edward said wasn't intended to be a threat; he didn't know why he said it, but he decided to follow the momentum that came with it. "It doesn't matter how. But I'd like to know, is that what this is about?"

"No." Now, it was Alan's turn to grasp for words. "This has nothing to do with... Edward, I didn't think you would--"

Edward made for the door and, although he wanted to tell him that he didn't know what it was that he wanted, he said, "See you around, Alan."

As much as Alan could have controlled Edward's reputation within the company, he was too good of a man to sabotage Edward's career. Soon enough, the design team was under his control and he sat at the board meetings. Right across from Alan.

They conversed and quarreled like strangers. Alan's naive idealism Edward had always hated was displayed through Alan's ideas for the company. Edward sat at the ready to shoot down those ideas, but he quickly learned that he wasn't alone. While incredibly unimpressive in terms of knowledge and skill, Richard Mackey and the rest of the corporate suits sitting around the table were the kind of realistic Edward could get behind.

So, here he was--not as his father, not as Kevin Flynn. This was where he stood now. The world at his feet. What now?

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a prompt on [tronkinkmeme](http://tronkinkmeme.livejournal.com/3950.html?thread=3598190#t3598190).
> 
>  
> 
> _4/13/2011_


End file.
